


We're Slowing Down and Starting A Fire

by thefairfleming



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: F/M, more RPF about people who've been dead a long time, these are my choices apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: Some PWP based on a very specific head canon I developed after 1x06.





	We're Slowing Down and Starting A Fire

Henry knows the value of patience.

It was one of the first lessons he learned, really, all those years of waiting, planning, biding his time. Move too soon, make choices that were rash, impetuous, and it could all be over in a heartbeat.  _ A steady course _ , Jasper always said, and Henry hewed to that.

So patience is a virtue that’s always come easy to him, but it is, he must admit, not one he’d expected to employ in his bedroom.

“Henry,” Lizzie murmurs, her fingers digging into his arms as he drags his nose along the line of her jaw, then further down into the soft hollow beneath. He kisses her there, the skin warm and silken, and her fingers bite harder, hips pressing into his. 

There’s no patience in his wife, not when it comes to this. He’d learned that in those first few months when she’d moved into the queen’s rooms and they’d begun the business of being husband and wife as well as king and queen. There were nights when he’d swear barely a moment had passed between him closing the door behind him and being inside her, her heels at the back of his thighs urging him on, her nightdress a tangled wreck above her waist.

Henry had certainly never complained about it, the eagerness she’d shown, the almost ruthless way she’d gone about seeking her own pleasure. For all that he might have claimed to want a chaste and obedient wife, the sensual creature he shared a bed with was much more to his tastes. He loved the shameless way she would move her hips, how her eyes would darken with desire, the soft cries she made. And there was something appealing in the contrast of her, of seeing her act every inch the queen during the day while knowing how wanton she could be in the privacy of their chambers. It had felt like their first secret, something shared and only for the two of them.

It had been the start, he sees now. An unexpected one- never did he think he’d win her body first- but a beginning nonetheless. 

That’s why he’d been so loathe to change things. So long as she wanted him, what did it matter that every coupling felt slightly frantic and hurried? It was still good, still left both of them drained and sated. It still felt  _ real. _

And maybe things would’ve continued that way had it not been for the night that, for whatever reason, he’d decided to draw things out. It had been after Harry’s birth, the first night they’d been together since her churching, and the simple pleasure of holding her, of tasting her mouth, of letting his hands move over her linen-clad body, of simply having  _ her _ , Lizzie, in his bed again had been too good to rush. Even when she’d made frustrated noises, purposely taking his hands and placing them where she wanted them, he’d held back. Instead, he’d kissed her, teased her, letting his fingers play against the hem of her gown. 

He’d made it last for ages, and by the time they were both naked and he was sliding inside of her, Lizzie was trembling, so close to release that when he’d ducked his head to run his tongue along her nipple, her back had arched off the bed, hands digging into his back so hard that he’d had marks the next morning.

Delaying their pleasure heightened it, turned their usually frenzied couplings into something slower, but hotter, and from that moment on, Henry vowed that he would set the pace in their bedroom.

It’s not a vow he’s always been able to keep. Sometimes, after he’s been apart from her for too long, he can barely stand to do more than pull her onto his lap in her chair by the fire, thrusting up into her with her skirts rucked up around them. 

But on nights like tonight, when the wanting is not so keen a blade, it’s easier to take his time.

“Are you going to make love to me or are we to spend the entire night fully dressed?” she breathes against his collarbone, her hands tight on his waist. Her hair is loose, soft and silky against his hands as he pushes it back to better kiss her neck.

“I’m going to make love to you,” he replies, smiling against her skin when she gives a shuddery sigh. “In time.”

Lizzie groans, and one of her hands slides from his waist, palm settling along his cock. Even through layers of material, he swears he can feel the warmth of her touch, and his fingers clutch reflexively against her hip. 

“I don’t like waiting,” she says, punctuating the statement with a nuzzle against his jaw.

But Henry only smiles. “Liar.”


End file.
